“I knew you would think so when you saw him, and I intended you should have met earlier, but was prevented by your sprain. And yet he has his foibles, or rather he has difficult cards to play, and his Irish officers,[30] who are much about him, are but sorry advisers: they cannot discriminate among the numerous pretensions that are set up. Would you think it—I have been obliged for the present to suppress an earl’s patent, granted for services rendered ten years ago, for fear of exciting the jealousy, forsooth, of C—— and M——? But you were very right, Edward, to refuse the situation of aide-de-camp. There are two vacant, indeed, but Clanronald and Lochiel, and almost all of us, have requested one for young Aberchallader, and the Lowlanders and the Irish party are equally desirous to have the other for the master of F——. Now, if either of these candidates were to be superseded in your favour, you would make enemies. And then I am surprised that the Prince should have offered you a majority, when he knows very well that nothing short of lieutenant-colonel will satisfy others, who cannot bring one hundred and fifty men to the field. “But patience, cousin, and shuffle the cards!” It is all very well for the present, and we must have you properly equipped for the evening in your new costume; for, to say truth, your outward man is scarce fit for a court.” “Why,” said Waverley, looking at his soiled dress, “my shooting jacket has seen service since we parted; but that probably you, my friend, know as well or better than I.” “You do my second-sight too much honour,” said Fergus. “We were so busy, first with the scheme of giving battle to Cope, and afterwards with our operations in the Lowlands, that I could only give general directions to such of our people as were left in Perthshire to respect and protect you, should you come in their way. But let me hear the full story of your adventures, for they have reached us in a very partial and mutilated manner.” Waverley then detailed at length the circumstances with which the reader is already acquainted, to which Fergus listened with great attention. By this time they had reached the door of his quarters, which he had taken up in a small paved court, retiring from the street called the Canongate, at the house of a buxom widow of forty, who seemed to smile very graciously upon the handsome young Chief, she being a person with whom good looks and good-humour were sure to secure an interest, whatever might be the party’s “political opinions”. Here Callum Beg received them with a smile of recognition. “Callum,” said the Chief, “call Shemus an Snachad” (James of the Needle). This was the hereditary tailor of Vich Ian Vohr. “Shemus, Mr. Waverley is to wear the _cath dath_ (battle colour, or tartan); his trews must be ready in four hours. You know the measure of a well-made man—two double nails to the small of the leg—”